Mad Clown

Of course, I'd be upset, too, if I had an obnoxious mother taking a picture of me while I was on the commode.  But really, that face deserves to be preserved for the sake of her future, you know?

Happy Friday, all!

Bigger Picture Moment: Worry and Light

This isn't monumental:

Our sweet Lauren Jade needs tubes in her ears.  For months, I became more and more concerned with her hearing; she can hear, but she watches my mouth as I repeat sentences once...twice...three times.  So: tubes.  This girl has never had an ear infection in her life, which was the only reason I ever knew for which tubes were required, but: tubes.  Surgery.  Alone.  It may not be monumental, but it feels that way. 

And that's not all. 

Everything feels bigger lately: worry about how I'm raising my children; doubts that I'm doing anything right (and what is right, anyway?); my terrible inability to keep our house clean enough to maintain the sense of calm that only comes when I'm surrounded by order; my family's diet, and whether or not it's as varietal and fresh and nourishing as it could be; deep desires to be a more faithful person, but desire isn't enough, is it?; the question of this baby's gender (as if I could control it, and if I could, would I even want to?) which occupies my thoughts for hours each day; fears about the difficulties my daughters' futures will hold; the constant, black worry behind my heart that pulses with the words loss -- death -- disease...

Although the (incomplete) list is mismatched in both severity and probability, it all feels huge.  Driving down the road, listening to calm music, it still feels huge.  Impassable.  It swells and bulges (blocking my view), all of this wondering and worrying, and that's big in itself because I wouldn't generally classify myself as a worrier.  Why all the sudden?  Is it hormonal?  Cultural?  Societal?

Or is it just me -- being me?

The real drama comes when I survey the world.  Oh, the lovely, terrifying world.  The devastating tornadoes and earthquakes and tsunamis and droughts and wars and upheaval and politics and the constant drive to win.  How do people get past this?  How do you get past this?  Especially if getting past it means tightening your net to only worry about the ones directly within your reach -- which brings us back to the non-monumental but still-bulging facts of life.

How do we poke a tiny hole in the impassive, massive balloon of concern that blocks our view and prevents us from moving forward?  How do we drain it, let it all trickle away -- not ignoring its presence, just witnessing it and letting it take up only as much space as is due: droplets of thought to be pondered within proportion.

How?

------------

Rushing on our way to the last ballet class of the year, I bellow orders.  Shoes!  Jackets!  Garage!  Car!  Seatbelts!  Now, now, now! 

Lauren, in short-sleeve-dress and bare legs, asserts her independence and denies the need for a jacket.  She likes the coldmess more than she likes jackets.  Mia follows her baby sister's lead, and together they hop down garage stairs and out to the driveway.  I shiver.  It is 54 degrees -- beautiful, but cool on my skin. 

Exasperated, my jaw tightens as I watch them disobey (with joyful lightheartedness).  They dance on the driveway while I put our things in the car.  Girls!  You have to get in right now!  Come on!  I've already asked twice!

I make sure nobody's changed their minds about jackets; they haven't.  Mia bounces over to me.  Mom you should go feel the sunshine!  The shade is pretty chilly, but the sun!  It's FABULOUS, mom!  Go feel it!

But I don't have time.  I buckle the girls into their carseats, slowing down only long enough to avoid a pinched thigh or a crooked clasp.  One girl, then the other; all the while, they're chattering about the sun.  It's been days since we've seen a golden ray of light, and it's captured their hearts first thing in the morning.  Once more, Mia begs:

Please, mom?  Step out there and feel the sun.  You'll love it -- I promise.  Her eyes are solemn and pure.  Grayish blue like mine, but they see so much more.  Sighing, I agree.  I'll step out there, but only for a second.  We can't be late (again).

Wrapping my arms around my torso, I shiver again -- why didn't I grab a jacket? -- and step onto the driveway.  The long morning shadow from our neighbor's oak tree casts itself at my feet, and Mia's right: it's chilly, in a blue, misty, damp sort of way.  Three more steps, and my right toe is in a patch of light.  One more and my body is drenched in warmth. 

Despite myself, I close my eyes and turn to the east.  The startling whiteness of the sun flashes across my purple eyelids, and I endure a moment of blindness.  I gather a breath.  The air is so fresh and clean that my lungs ache to be more full than physically possible.  I exhale and repeat, raising my arms and spinning a circle with the breeze.  The shadows tickle my outstretched arms with cool -- the sun pulls me back around again.

I open my eyes, take in the blue dome of sky, greedily steal one last lung-full of air, and return to the garage, smiling and slow.  There was time, after all.

------------

Here's one way: drop a thread of busy, worried time long enough to grasp a single moment's worth of sunlight and warmth.  It will last all day, nestled where it was seared behind reluctant eyelids.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us today at Melissa's place!  Grab the button, link up and share your Bigger Picture with us!

Pieces of Our Easter

I wish I had pictures of the sunrise service -- always my favorite few moments of Easter -- but I don't.  

(Just imagine a cloud-covered sky at dawn, over a dark patch of center-city garden.  It's a labyrinth, and this time of year, it's blooming with purple iris: shadows along the path.  There is the occasional car passing by, but for the most part, the small group of gatherers is surrounded with quiet.  Oh, but the birds -- their cacophony rises by the minute, trying to drown out the sun's overshadowing presence.  Thus, the minister, her voice calm and smooth by nature, also competes to be heard.  By the end, with voices raised in celebration, the gatherers are bathed in new light.  Filtered by clouds that will threaten to wash the day away, but can't dampen the spirit of joy.)

What I do have, are photos like these: 

The dim sanctuary, filled with the choir's practicing harmony.



Little girls, coloring Easter pictures in Sunday School.  A new experience for sweet Lauren, fresh as she is from the baby-room!



  


Lauren, alight with the joy of candy sprinkles.  Oh -- and she also intermittently decorated a sugar cookie.

Mia, focused on completing the job with impressive haste; the better to EAT you, my dear cookie!





The day was washed away by rain, but we improvised with wonderful results.  All was well! 

The most exciting part of the egg hunt is sharing your loot with Grandpa.  Sharing scents, that is.  No candy passed hands in the making of this photo.

As if sugar cookies and treat-filled eggs weren't enough, we added a candy-laden pinata to the madness.







And if these girls were any more sweet in their holiday dresses, I would have passed out from over-exposure to preciousness. 

As it was, I merely passed out from exhaustion and the stress of wrangling two over-sugared cuties into bed at an early hour. 

Rain-washed or sugar-loaded or joy-centered, I hope your Easter was lovely, too!

Weekly Column: Picky Eaters? Join the Club!

When my oldest daughter began exploring the different food groups – years ago – I remember being excited and a little afraid.  Hadn’t I heard horror stories about kids who would demand macaroni and cheese or applesauce, and refuse all else?  I worried incessantly about keeping her within a well-rounded, highly varied diet. 

Quickly, it became clear that her tastes would prevail; I could enforce variety as I saw fit, but if she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t eat it.  Her little sister has grown into different – yet equally certain – tastes, and we’ve tried everything possible to encourage a full range of healthy foods. 

Here are a few ways to encourage your own picky eaters to venture away from their trusted favorites.  First, remember that repeated offerings are vital in order for your child to recognize the food as normal and acceptable.  Second, if they don’t see you eating it, they’re less likely to believe it’s actually good.  Dive right in with them, and see what happens.

Dairy

If your child doesn’t like the standard cheese you have on hand, experiment with textures, colors, and shapes.  For example, my own daughter will only eat mozzarella, and only if it’s shredded.  Try different types of yogurt and milk, too; greek yogurt is thicker and tangier than conventional varieties, while soy or almond milk has a completely different taste (in my opinion) than cow’s milk.  Keep trying, and hope for a winner.  Luckily, pudding and ice cream count, too – thank goodness for simple joys.

Fruits

While this group seems less likely to cause issues, there are still ruts to get stuck in.  For a child who will only ever eat one thing – apples, bananas – try a new fruit each week.  Pick something complementary to the usual favorite, and serve them together.  Be sure to recognize that textures can cause trouble for some kids.  Be open to serving fruit in a different way: baked apples for example, or berries blended in a smoothie.

Grains

To steer your kids toward the more healthy whole-grains, it’s okay to just not purchase the enriched, stripped varieties.  If possible, let your kids help make a few loaves of fresh wheat bread; the act of baking it themselves may make them love it.  Otherwise, try cutting whole-wheat sandwiches into fun shapes, and substituting white rice with brown at meals.  The flavors aren’t as drastically different as you might think, but it might take a little practicing to accept the change.

Proteins

We’ve never had much luck with homemade versions of usual favorites: chicken nuggets or strips are automatically routed out as imposters.  Instead, try completely different choices altogether.  Stir-fried chicken chunks or steak kebabs might satisfy the ‘small food’ desire, but not impose on the old favorites’ standing.  Remember that beans and eggs are packed with protein, too, as well as nuts and seeds.  Toss them in liberally, and your child might find a new, sneaky protein to love.

Vegetables

For this time-honored, most-hated food group, experimenting is more important than ever.  Try broccoli steamed or roasted, sauced or salted; try sweet potatoes in soups or casseroles, caramelized or mashed.  If all attempts at cooked veggies are shunned, don’t forget the beauty of raw.  A platter of colorful, crunchy veggies looks festive, and can be served with a few bowls of dips to get the ball rolling.  Plus, these can be served before a meal, and seem like a snack – something about ‘snack’ says ‘fun’.  

The simple act of offering new foods can start the process – even if it’s a years-long process – of kids learning to open their palates.

[Online version here.]

A Pirate Adventure!

This weekend marked a lot of firsts for us.  Not only did the girls and I make our first out-of-town trip without Justin, which I'll talk more about later (probably), but we also attended our first ever Pirate Princess Tea Party! 

It was an entire day of fun -- not over-planned and hyper-scheduled, but flowing and easy. 

The scavenger hunt led to a treasure chest that was pillaged and plundered (in a sweet, orderly fashion), with loot scattered underfoot as the pirate-princesses searched for the perfect jewels.

Between these four particular pirates, there was an abundance of giggles, shrieks, and imagination.  There was also a smattering of shyness, which I hear is typical of only the most dainty and thoughtful of pirates.

Better still, there were plenty of opportunities for careful mess-making and jewel-gluing. 

This kept the daring (and creative) pirates busy for the time it took the scullery maids to prepare a feast.  And you know (don't you?): pirates require specific sustenance after treasure hunts and jewel heists. 

Their exertions need to be met with very....very...very cautious offerings.  After all, it isn't wise to anger a pirate, not even a delicate pirate-princess.

Tea and cupcakes were a fine reward for this band of hungry swashbucklers.  What's more, the pirate tea party turned out to be just what we needed to make our adventurous weekend a success.  



And to remind us why it's so good to have dear friends within visiting distance.  Even if they are pirates!

7 Quick Pre-Fab Takes

1.  This is a 100% pre-published post; right now, the girls and I are away visiting friends on our very first solo road trip.  Solo, meaning, I have to navigate, drive, check-in, entertain, check-out, and maintain control all without the assistance of my husband.  You know him, right?  The one who owns the majority of our combined navigational and directional skills?  The one who's the most entertaining and capable of the two of us?  

But I'm excited!  Wish us luck!



2.  Despite my grandly simple, lovely plans for a tangled flower garden, I did, indeed, plant actual food.  Again.  In my defense, it's only two varieties of tomatoes, and a few watermelon seeds.  Probably some pumpkins.  Definitely some strawberries.  See?  All easy things, right? 

I can't help it; spring means gardening!  To be truthful, the prospect of planning and planting a flower garden was beginning to stress me out more than just doing what I know, or sort of know, which is: plant a few veggies -- mismatched as they may be -- water them when you remember, weed them but never, and see what happens.



3.  Proof that flowers might not be the best option for me:
Mia: We have a thornbush at our house that sometimes grows roses.
Me: *snort*



4.  Here's my happy discovery of the week: Berry-Berry Kix are healthy!  Well, at least they're not as worthless as I suspected (although the assumption of worthlessness wasn't enough to stop me from giving in to my 3-year-old's grocery store request)  Instead of being colored with red dye and whatever else, they're colored with fruit and veggie juices, plus their air-puffed simplicity actually includes a couple of grams of fiber.  Oh!  And only 7 grams of sugar (which is comparable to Multi-Grain Cheerios)!  See?  Healthy!

The bigger issue for me, though, is the way it tints the milk in the cereal bowl to a sweet shade of pink.  This means my milk-hating Lauren begs to drink her milk -- something that's never happened before to my reckoning.  Is it completely ridiculous to filter all her milk through Berry-Berry Kix?  Sure, I could buy strawberry milk mix, but...that's got to have a ton of sugar, right? 

Kix it is.



5.  It only took 8 weeks of procrastination and slow-stitching, but I finally finished a baby blanket for my friend Lenae's sweet Quinn!  I followed this tutorial for making chenille, and if I were any kind of seamstress at all, it would have been a snap.  As it was, it's highly imperfect, but still totally cool-looking.  And crooked.  And soft.  (I still can't believe I forgot to photograph the finished chenille...sigh.)  Lenae posted a photo of Quinn and her big brother snuggling up on it, and I feel...blessed.  That the blanket will be loved.

And as for the gorgeous binding, I did not actually do that; my talented and generous Aunt Linda did, and I owe her a pan of cinnamon rolls or something extravagant in thanks.  What would you suggest?



6.  Do you like getting pedicures?  I don't -- well, I haven't.  Because I'd never had one until a few days ago.  I'm 28, and a first-time pedi-chair user.  I know.  But I have this issue with people touching my feet.  As in, they're not allowed to.  But my sister-in-law offered to share a pedicure with me, and I couldn't say no.  My winter feet needed a pedicure; knowing I didn't have the energy to do it myself, I swallowed my fears and ticklish tendencies (kind of) with a giggling sister-in-law at my side, and had my first pedi. 

Look!  So pretty!  I actually enjoyed it, too.  Which means (of course) that a mere 12 hours after the appointment, I stubbed my big toe so badly that the cuticle is bruised and bleeding.  Nevertheless, thank you Emily! 



7.  Happy Easter, everyone!  I hope your weekend is full of blessings!



More Quick Takes are at Conversion Diary.

Bigger Picture Moment: Earthy Like a Child

It was chilly that day. Barely above 60 degrees, which, after several days of near 80's, induced goose-bumps on our pale skin. Still, the girls wore sundresses. Their shoulders are so narrow under growing piles of hair; they might as well be babies for how wistfully I admire those shoulders.

But I hoped they'd wear a jacket.  I was shivering watching them play.  I wanted them to stand still in a patch of sunlight and soak it up like kittens, or better yet, I wanted to snuggle them next to me so they'd stay cozy.

It wasn't to be.  They kicked their shoes off, 'set their piggies free'*, and danced on the cold grass.  The sky above was the kind of blue that makes you wonder where it's been all your life -- surely it's never been so bright before?  So free of haze or glare?  Surely a sky like that must be played under, despite a chilly breeze?

So they played.  Their skin was cold each time they dashed back to my side, but they laughed it off; they just didn't feel it.  They only felt the freshness, the sun, the grass, and the sky.  They felt childhood, really.  The time when nobody cares how cold the creek is -- they wade in and return with red toes; nobody minds the sweat of a summer day -- they simply dash through an icy sprinkler and get back to business; nobody is irritated by that giant mud puddle -- they see only opportunity and splashes in their future.

What must that be like?  To live without worry or irritation?  To simply dance under the blue sky, tickling your toes on cool grass?

I'll try it if you will...

*I highly recommend listening and dancing to this delightful Ziggy Marley/Sesame Street song.  It's so fun, and fits today's moment perfectly!  

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us today at Hyacynth's place! Grab the button, link up and share your Bigger Picture with us!

Watery Wednesday

These eyes are blue and crystalline and humorous.  They see so much; when she was an infant, I sometimes got the feeling her scrutinous gaze would embed memories on her mind that would come back to bite me later: Mom, remember when I was a baby and you picked your nose while I had tummy time?  I totally saw that. 

And though I doubt she'll ever say that particular sentence to me (because, you know, it's not true...ahem), I still know she sees everything. 

But what to do about these pesky allergies?!  Nobody in my family has allergies, so to see sweet Lauren's red-rimmed, watery, itchy eyes dominating her adorable face is too much.  She buries her fists in them and rubs those eyes into submission, but I'm afraid that only makes things worse. 

I've given her cold cloths to place there for some relief, and she likes them, but I feel like I could be doing more.  At the same time, I don't want to give her medication if there are other things that will work in this case.  She seems fine otherwise -- a little sneezy perhaps -- so I hate to medicate for lots of maladies she's not burdened by.

Any ideas?  Something naturally effective for my blue-and-red-eyed girl?

(And don't you LOVE those earrings?  She does, too!)

Grassy Tuesday

Nothing like a little help in the yard to make a chore fly by, right?

The motivation to keep going, plowing through the first mow of the spring season, must have been boosted by such an adorable (vacuuming) assistant.  I wouldn't know about that motivation, of course...

Because I was happily resting on the shady porch, enjoying the sound of laughter and intermittent mowing.  He had to stop every 2 or 3 minutes to inspect a spider web, or a lethargic wasp, or a perfect walking stick, so the job took three times as long as usual.  The afternoon was slow.  Breezy.  Bright.  Grassy.

Perfect, really.

Sappy Monday

Admittedly, I was lonely and cold on my side of the booth.  (At least I had my sandwich to keep me company...)

But if it isn't the sweetest thing in the world to have a husband who's adored and begged for by his dazzled daughters, I don't know what is.  They didn't give him much peace, between requests for hugs and tickles and help with lunch. 

The second sweetest thing is how little he minds being so desired. 

A good man may be hard to find, but he's awfully easy to love.

Weekly Column: Little Gardens, Big Fun

Every year around this time, I become enamored with the idea of gardening.  In my mind’s eye, I see a perfectly planted garden, colorful with the fruit of a productive season.  I see rows of protective marigolds bordering the veggies, and sweet little helping hands digging in dirt. 

And then I remember what those little hands will actually do in a garden: they’ll toss dirt into the air, letting it catch the wind and blow into a nearby gardener’s face.  They’ll grab a handful of muddy soil with such excitement that dirt will be caked under their fingernails for days.  They might dig up a newly sprouted bean plant to see what color the roots are.  And just when a bright, orange tomato is only a day away from being ready to harvest, eager fingers will pluck it off and take a ruinous bite.

It takes a minute for my perfectionist’s mind to clear and see the beauty in all of those ‘mishaps’. 

I know that a garden planted by two preschoolers and their novice mother will not be filled with symmetrical rows – rather, it will have scattered growth and tangled vines.   A garden tended by excited children will be plundered of its harvest, whether or not the harvest is actually ready.  Dirty hands will certainly find their way back into the (supposedly) clean house, and a worm or twelve will be handled and petted into extinction. 

All of those outcomes are beautiful.

What kinds of things will happen when we let the kids dig in the dirt?  They’ll discover worms, beetles, roots, and rocks.  Their hands will encounter tactile treasures that no indoor playtime can mimic.  They’ll learn just how much watering will produce a gorgeous pit of mud, and how big a pile of dirt must be before it becomes deep enough to hide a seed.  They’ll see why dry dirt doesn’t nourish the plants as well as moist dirt does.

The act of being outside for the time it takes to garden can make up for hesitations we might blame for staying inside.  Is it too wet or hot for comfort?  Oh well – the weeds will only take a minute to pull, and the burst of sunshine and fresh air will make a cooling splash of misplaced hose water all the more welcome.  Even better, on those miserably hot summer days, getting the kids outside first thing in the morning – in pajamas, even! – makes for comfortable and memorable gardening. 

If having kids beside us as we watch our plants grow is stressful because we’re not sure when they’ll pluck all the bean blossoms or maul a tiny squash, it’s okay.  There are lessons to be learned about patience and delayed gratification; an unripe tomato surely won’t taste as juicy and delicious as it would have if they’d waited until the time was right.  If a tiny plant is uprooted, we can explain how no veggies will grow there.  It’s all a learning process, and if we don’t encourage a few mistakes, they’ll never see the possibilities.

When children are allowed and encouraged to help with something as simple as growing a garden, the good effects can’t help but be bounteous, if imperfect.  Straight rows aren’t necessary.   Huge harvests aren’t required.  So many lessons and memories happen around the act of gardening, that kids of any age can and should be involved in a garden, small or large.  Potted or plotted.  Decorative or fruitful. 

Gardens grow more than just flowers or vegetables: they grow healthy, creative, thoughtful kids. 

(And sometimes, if luck prevails, gardens also grow patient parents.)

[Online version here.]

7 Ways Life Has Been Funny Lately

1.  I'd say that Justin and I discourage name-calling in general, although we've yet to really encounter it at home.  The concept of name-calling, though, must reside deep within our ever-lovin' souls, because Mia's doing her best to come up with some whoppers.  Upon being told no for something immemorial, she turned on her heels, planted her fists on her hips, and glared (with a tickling grin around the edges of her pursed lips) in my direction before spouting out this gem:

You POODLE-POP!!

Her grin won the best of her, and she pivoted again, hair flying as she made a dramatic exit.  I tried to muster up some indignance, I really did, but it was all too funny.

2.  Lying on my tummy, taking the last half of her 'nap' with me, Mia listened to the gurgles and plops happening in my post-lunch abdomen.  Determined to stay quiet and restful (naptime isn't just for the littles, after all), I listened to her hum and sing under her breath.  All was well until she made me laugh.

Mom!  I hear the baby splashing around in there!

3.  After I finished the cheetos and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich that were part of my lunch yesterday, I rewarded myself with an orange popsicle. 

What?!

I ate all of my baby carrots, too, so I deserved that treat.  (Eating like a kid can be fabulously fun sometimes, you know?)



4.  Everything with Lauren is funny, really.  I wish you could hear her chuckling through this window.

5.  Mia: Mom, you just have to come play outside tonight with us, okay?

Me: Sorry, cutie, I can't.  I have a meeting to be at in just a few minutes.

Mia: *great, wracking sigh*  Party foul!

6.  Cats are so immodest.  And pliable.  And also cute.  But that's my plant, and not my cat.

7.  While not exactly funny, in a ha-ha sort of way, I think this is funny in an isn't-life-amazing sort of way:  I am a scant 14 weeks pregnant, and I've felt the baby move every day this week.  Tickles and taps, reminding me not to forget: this life is amazing. 




More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

Bigger Picture Moment: Letting Her Be

The girls are lined up on the polished, golden floor, watching themselves dance before a wall of mirrors.  One is a head taller than most, another a head shorter than most -- that's my Mia -- but all could be identical if viewed from an angle.  A horizontal, upwards angle, perhaps, with a bright light forcing your eyes to squint. 

All of these girls have pastel-pink legs and soft leather slippers.  Their hair is gathered on their heads in a motley mix of 'up': ponytails, buns, braids, pigtails -- that's my Mia.  And most importantly, most indistinguishably, are their black leotards.  One and all. 

Black and pink with up-done hair, the girls' bodies recite the teacher's movements with awkward, lovely interpretations.  I lose track of my daughter often, among this group.  Despite her smallness, despite her long pigtails, she blends in perfectly.  She looks like a baby ballerina, port de brasing and tendu devanting and demi plieing as best she can, which is no better or worse than the rest of her peers' attempts. 

She smiles and laughs when it's time to practice Irish skipping, and her knees fly further up and out than I would have thought possible.  I'm half afraid she'll be overcome by forward momentum and simply fly away on those flapping legs, but before it actually happens, the next ballerina is flapping in the exact same fashion and I am distracted. 

So, I've lost her again.  She is so bright and colorful and easily noticed elsewhere.  She shines and arrests attention (arrests my attention, at least) instead of melding and blurring, as she does in ballet class.

Is this, I wonder, a subconscious reasoning for why she so stalwartly refuses to go to class?  Is this lack of independence part of her desire to stop the lessons?  Because for the last six months at least, it's all I can do to enforce the continuance of ballet.  We've agreed to these lessons, she wanted these lessons, we've paid for these lessons, we're going to these lessons.  (Yes, we occasionally skip lessons, just for the sake of spontaneity and relief; whose relief is more apparent, I'm not quite sure.)

I don't want her to quit before our time is up; I want her to learn the value of a follow-through.  I also don't want her to be involved in something that holds no excitement or value for her.  This was only supposed to be a fun thing; I don't harbor mother-of-a-professional-dancer aspirations within my heart.  We will stop; there are only two weeks of class left to get through.

But then, as I watch, the silken scarves come out.  Every girl, from the tallest to the middlest (though not the smallest -- that's my Mia) have chosen a shade of pink with which to free-dance around the room before tapping begins.  I know the scarf box holds a rainbow of options, but pink wins the majority.

Not with my Mia.  She chooses blue.  A gash of lightning across the black and pink mist.  A floating sliver of bright sky within the stormy, rosy clouds. 

Her scarf stands out and I follow it with my eyes over and under the complete vagueness of monotony.  She swoops and dives, twirls and -- I swear -- executes a lovely, beginner's version of fouette en tournant, spinning around on the ball of one foot while her opposite leg wraps gracefully behind her knee. 

The blue scarf trails from a tiny arm, a clutched hand, and she is distinct.  One.  Single and independent. 

Just as her heart desires. 

I won't force ballet to continue, though I do question her adamant denial that she enjoys it: her face glows with drama and pride during each lesson.  If not for blending in and being overshadowed by the group, I don't know what else it could be.  Not having any friends in the class?  The long, boring drive on otherwise beautiful mornings?

But instead of pushing this, I'll focus on the positive, and we'll move forward.  She's learned a great deal this year, she's not afraid to try something new, and she loves to free-dance with airy scarves. 

In fact, I foresee a box of silken scarves in our future.  From which she can paint rainbows of dance with whatever glorious colors best fit her mood that day.  She can stand out if she wants, or blend in -- it makes no difference to me.

Except that in whatever she chooses, I want her to love it with the same passion that she loves being herself.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful.  Please join us today at Alita's place!  Grab the button, link up and share your Bigger Picture with us!

Acquainted with the Night

1:18 AM
Her room is filled with the sour-sick smell that makes me want to crawl away and hide.  Were it not for the sweet girl whose frightened screams are blasting from her bed, I'd be tempted to do just that: leave the mess for daylight.  Instead, I yell for Justin's help, and we attack it together. 

Once the lights are on, I see the extent of the yucky.  It's bad and everywhere; she's too young to know how to sit up and keep herself clean, and I contemplate a midnight bath while Justin cleans the room.  But she's so tired.  So confused.  And past experience leads me to anticipate another mess within the coming hours.  We snuggle her sponge-washed body back into a towel-covered bed, load the soiled bedding into the laundry room, and wish her a good night. 

We back quietly out of the sour room, turning the fan on low to relieve our sense of her comfort.


2:02 AM
Again.  What once was cleaned and dry is now gross and discouraging.  She still cries, but now is awake enough to question.  We explain that when she feels yucky, to sit up -- to avoid objects.  She wants her lambie and blankie, but they are festering in the laundry room.  Seeing that the bed needs an entire scrubbing-down from the force of her sickness, we give it a few useless swipes before opting to build a pallet of toweling and sheets on the floor.  It's exciting and fun!  She rests on a new pillow, clings to a second-string lovey, and smiles sweetly.  She is not hot.  She is not lethargic.  She seems perfect in every way, although she isn't wearing pajamas just in case they'll just be a hindrance later.

We back quietly out of the dark room, crossing our fingers that the night will get better.


2:14 AM
She's sobbing because she's just realized her lack of pajamas.  She needs pajamas.  We dig through the laundry to find something easily removable, and tuck her back in, warm and dry.


3:07 AM
Again.  She's more calm, sitting up and leaning far away from her blankets.  There's not much to clean; her spasming stomach has been completely emptied.  Justin's slept through this quiet exchange, so I change her into a third set of pajamas and compliment her aim.  Touching her clean hair, marveling at its dryness, she worries: Is my hair fine?  Yes, I assure her.  I kiss the top of her head, without breathing-in her scent; although her hair was untouched this time, it's still far from fine.

As I creep towards the door, she sits up and her voice wobbles.  But who can watch over me when I'm sleeping?  I need you to watch over me.  She's trying to be brave; her lips force a grimace of strength and she smashes her fists into her eyes, daring them to spill their tears. 

I glance around the room.  I see my brave child on the floor. 

I grab another blanket, a pillow, and snuggle myself in for the rest of the night. 


5:29 AM
My neck is crooked and my hip is numb.  My feet are cold. 

But Lauren is softly snoring, deeply and finally asleep.  The night is over; long live the night.

Something Beautiful

And the sunset is nice, too.

Sarah and the Giant Dogs

I don't love dogs.  (Please don't let this change your positive opinion of me, if, in fact, it is a positive opinion.  I'm a good-natured girl, I promise!)

I wouldn't say I hate them, but it's definitely been awhile since I've enjoyed the company of a dog.  As a little girl, I adored them; doted on them; begged for puppies; rolled around in the grass with our own dog.  Now, though, I can't stand the thought of a wayward, sloppy tongue greeting me each morning or the dingy-excited jump and maul upon each return home.  I can't stand the thought of one more thing to clean up after. 

I do try to smile genially at whatever dogs we may encounter; it's not their fault I don't like them.  My parents' dog, for instance, is a nice sort of fella.  Laid-back, humanish in mannerism, their Yellow Labrador is a good boy. I pet his (clean) ears on occasion.  I rub his upturned belly with my foot.  I appreciate his quiet gaze. 

But still, he sheds.  He licks.  He rolls in oddly-smelling substances. 

The girls, however, are dog aficionados.  Indiscriminately, they love dogs.  They're cautious at first, as they should be, making sure the dog wants to be played with or (as often the case may be) ridden around the yard.  I don't discourage this doggy-adoration.  It's fun and cute, and as long as the dogs aren't irritating me, I don't mind them one bit. 

Until the dogs in question are large, stray, and...large.  Gigantic, actually.  Loud.  Enormous.

Last week, a couple of stray dogs wandered out of the woods and settled themselves in our back yard.  For the day.  There they camped, under the shadow of our roof, while I hid inside, wondering what to do about them.  (Though I'm not a dog-lover, I didn't want to call the pound; don't they...get rid of dogs with no forthcoming owners?)  The girls were at school for the morning, so while they weren't there to see (and be afraid), I attempted to rid our yard of the beastly dogs.

One was a large, muscular Boxer.  The other was (I think) a French Mastiff.  GIANT DOGS.  In my yard, they barked on occasion, but mostly just rested in the grass.  Like an idiot, I stepped into the yard to see if they'd run away.  You know: strangers are scary, right?  You run away from them?

Yeah, not if you're a two-hundred pound mastiff and his perky (HUGE) boxer friend. 

As I stepped slowly into their view, hands calmly at my sides, the boxer raised up from the ground and rumbled a quick, muffled bark in my direction.  At that, I stepped one foot backwards, and tried not to wet myself. 

As soon as the boxer barked, the mastiff lumbered himself off the ground into a great mound of standing beast.  His boulder-shaped head swung in my direction at the same time the boxer leapt three short leaps forward, each jump punctuated by three deep barks. 

I almost fell over my feet, coordination not being my strongest suit as an athlete.  (Me not being an athlete at all, anyway.)  Behind me was the gate, and I scrambled towards it in the least stunningly graceful way imaginable.  Despite wanting the dogs to go away, I locked the gate on my mad dash to safety, and pondered how to lure them from my yard with...what?  Raw meat?  A well-aimed garden hose?

Instead, I left to get the girls from school, silently propping the gate back open again, but otherwise avoiding the issue entirely.  On the way home, I told them that they wouldn't be allowed to play outside until the strange dogs left, but that they could peek out the window at them.  (Tres exciting, eh?)

As soon as they were able, the girls dashed to the open window and stared at the monstrous dogs in our grass. 

Whispering and gesturing, I told them how to watch quietly.  How to examine the giant creatures without gaining the dogs' attention. 

Lauren and Mia were impervious to my worry. 

"Hi puppy!" Lauren welcomed them.

"Here, puppy, puppy!  Here puppy!"  Mia squealed. 

But before I could stop their joyful talk, the dogs noticed us.  Out the window, the boxer tilted his head towards the girls' sweet voices...

and his clipped tail began wagging so hard that his entire backside wobbled gracelessly.  I swear, he smiled.  His tongue lolled out one side of his happy mouth, and he ambled joyfully towards the house, drawn by the tiny, high voices of my children.

The mastiff followed suit, heaving himself up and around the side of our house.  They both began to explore my porch, and settled in to be admired by the girls.

And, of course, to be properly documented by me: the frightened cat-lover.  (By the way, my cat was nowhere to be seen during this whole ordeal.  He knows when to skedaddle.)

After awhile, the dogs ambled off to the neighbor's driveway, and then out of the neighborhood entirely. 

When they were gone, I had the startling (and uncharacteristic) urge to pet the mastiff.  To see if he was as solid as he looked.  To measure the width of his impossibly broad chest.

And really, just to say that I'd been brave enough to get within arm's reach of the GIANT DOG.

Weekly Column: Know Your Children Well, and Outside Perceptions Won't Matter

My youngest daughter just celebrated her third birthday, and for her, this meant balloons, cake, and presents.  It meant showered-attention and retold stories of the actual birth day. 

For me, however, it meant something different.  While I absolutely reflected upon her wonderful birth and grasped at fleeting minutes to keep her a baby for just a bit longer, I also found myself worrying about silly things.  Things like whether or not the house was clean enough for a family party, how much cake would be enough, and how my shy girl would handle a houseful of guests all there to pay tribute to her. 

Because she is almost painfully shy at this stage, I worried about her reaction to the party.  She’s clung to me violently around kind uncles and rambunctious cousins, so what did this mean for her party?  Could I expect her to suddenly catapult into social grace?  Would she interact with our guests, despite her resolve to never speak to anyone but parents and grandparents?

Perhaps my biggest worry was if she would have the capacity to thank our family for their gifts. 

If there’s one thing I’m overly conscious of, it’s how my parenting choices are perceived by others.  I sometimes struggle with letting my kids be who they are while in the presence of those who may not understand them, especially if they come across as harsh or rude. 

For example, my older daughter gets angry in response to embarrassment or confusion, and instead of reprimanding her rudeness, I know that it’s more important in that moment to address the actual problem she’s experiencing.  We’ll address the moody handling of those emotions next, when she’s better able to place them.  But in that moment, I worry that we appear to be a passive mother and a tyrannical child. 

In the case of my youngest, I knew I’d be concerned with her reaction to gifts.  If she refused to open her shy mouth in order to utter the required thanks, I knew I’d be tempted to force the issue for the sake of making sure our guests saw a polite child. 

Luckily, I came to my senses in the heat of the moment.  I know my daughter, and I know what she’s comfortable with at this stage.  To force a spoken word, when we could all see how she was enamored with her gifts, would be ridiculous.  It would embarrass and frighten her, and this was her party!  There was no need for strict enforcement of a rule I’m usually very attendant to.  Instead, my husband and I made sure to express our own thanks for each gift as it was opened, teaching by example that it’s painless and simple to offer thanks.  That she’ll be expected to do so as she matures.

I believe this is an ongoing issue for many parents, this anxiety over how our children’s behavior is perceived.  But the real truth is that if we trust ourselves to know our children, to know why they’re behaving certain ways, then we’ve already got all the tools we need to make the best parenting choices for our families. 

To do this, though, it truly requires an active desire to understand our children, rather than merely react to their behavior.  It requires a life that includes our children’s opinions and thoughts.  It requires admitting that our children are intrinsically valuable, not just when they’re on their best behavior. 

It requires wanting to know them, even if they’re confusing or shy or angry. 

Our children deserve nothing less than to be known, understood, and valued.

[Online version here.}

7 Things I Learned This Week

1.  If there is a hard-boiled egg in your refrigerator and you can't exactly remember the date on which it was placed there, it's better NOT to take a test-bite.  This will lead to much heaving over the kitchen sink, even if you're not 13 weeks pregnant.


2.  When you remove your wedding rings to slather lotion on your hands, it's not advisable to leave them lounging on a counter-top where they might be discovered by a 3-year-old's inquisitive fingers.  You'll be left with a missing engagement ring and heart full of remorse. 


3.  However this question is phrased, you will never ever be able to give a coherent answer: Hey mom?  Why is your voice a circle?


4.  It is quite possible to drink your doctor's recommended daily ounces of milk, but it may require more Oreo cookie consumption than he'd be comfortable with.  It's a tough trade-off, but somebody's gotta do it.


5.  Being overly proud of yourself for remembering to pay the bills on time will quickly fade into irritation the next day when you realize that you've left the required checkbook at home on the bill-paying desk instead of bringing it to the (overdue) ballet appointment.


6.  When you clean the toilet and your husband remarks upon its brilliance with both surprise and awe, you'll know that you've waited too long between cleanings.  You'll also know that it's time for hubby to wield his own toilet brush more often, since he appreciates the darn gleam so much.


7.  On the night before your daughter's preschool class is having an egg-drop competition, in which the whole family was supposed to participate in creating a suitably cushy egg-dropping-contraption, you'll realize that no matter your age, you will always be a procrastinator.  (Thankfully, the egg won't suffer the consequences -- you may be perpetually late, but you're also a genius.)



More Quick Takes are here.

Bigger Picture Moment: Mossy Life

I love our woods.  They are small and sloping (and technically they're not 'ours' at all) but they are rambling and beautiful nonetheless, especially in early spring when the creep and choke of foliage haven't yet discouraged entrance.  Our woods beg to be explored. 

(I love our life.  It is small and enclosed, but it is rambling and beautiful nonetheless, especially in such a season as this, when we're full of hope and wonder and exhaustion.  Our lives beg to be lived.)

On this particular walk in the hour before sunset, I was enchanted by the moss.  Did I never notice moss before there was a camera in my hands?  Really, it's only moss -- fungus? -- and that means it has no motion.  Moss is without action or excitement.  Moss is soft and dreary, not bright and brilliant or hoped for, usually. 

(In this particular mode of mothering, when our children are so vibrantly needy, I am taken over by them.  Did I never expect to be so overshadowed by their needs?  What am I, but a mother?  I wait beside them, urging and guiding, but ultimately stagnant.  I am soft and tired, not bright or brilliant, but this IS what I hoped for.  Is it what I expected?)

But on this walk, I sought it out.  It wasn't hard; moss is amazingly abundant in early April when the ground is damp and cool.  It must serve some magnificent purpose, right?  It must be the foundation of the whole forest; the trees and vines and loam wouldn't be the same without the moss's sheltering carpet -- its capturing clutch of moisture.

(Right now, I am sought out.  I am amazingly needed and must be present in every part of their world.  For the necessary accouterments of life, I am indispensable, but what am I urging them towards?  Independence: they'll rise up and away.  And here I'll remain, quiet and sheltering from below, resting at last while they wave their limbs in the sky.)

Surely I'm not the only one who sees the beauty in this quiet, hidden plant.  Certainly, the moss serves a role beyond what its humble facade would suggest.  It is calm and often stepped-upon.  It is diverse and lovely.  It is not without a voice, but its whispered song is saved for the most observant. 

(Surely I'm not the only one who sees the beauty in this quiet, hidden life.  Certainly, motherhood serves a role beyond what its humble facade would suggest.  I am calm and often stepped-upon, but I AM diverse and lovely.  I am not without a voice, and my whispered song will be heard if only I venture to share it.)

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us today!  Grab the button, link up and then go forth and encourage the two people before you while they are walking this journey of intentional living.